Kalah Allen

A FEW WEEKS BACK, I ran into Walmart at Eastport, looking for a present for my nephew. As I grabbed an action figure, a little toddler boy walked up and tried to hand me a Five Nights at Freddy's toy. Suddenly, a young lady—late teens with blue streaks in her hair—told him to go with "Grandma." Then I noticed you, standing there in the aisle with your shopping cart. Tattoo on your shoulder, beautiful smile, brownish, auburnish hair. I was floored. We exchanged smiles once—and then did so again, as you walked by me as I stood in line and you headed to the gardening department. Just to let you know: You are one HOT GRANDMA!—Anonymous